


Colorless

by lal nila syrin (lalnilasyrin)



Series: Blind Sighted [3]
Category: D N Angel, D.N. Angel, D.N.Angel, DN Angel, DNAngel, d. n. angel
Genre: Alternate Universe, Blind Character, Blindness, Friendship, Gen, blind!daisuke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-26
Updated: 2014-03-26
Packaged: 2018-01-24 17:29:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1613360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lalnilasyrin/pseuds/lal%20nila%20syrin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Satoshi unexpectedly finds himself questioning his passion, all thanks to a boy who didn't know what colors were.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Colorless

**Author's Note:**

> A side story (not quite a sequel) to Blind Sighted, exploring Daisuke and Satoshi's relationship in this AU.

The hallway was quiet except for his light footsteps. Everyone had gone home for the day, and what few students were left were on cleaning duty or rushing off to clubs.

Daisuke Niwa had never had much of either of those. He couldn’t play sports, and no one ever assigned him cleaning duties—he usually had to offer to help, and insist on it, before someone let him do something. But today, as usual, no one had anything for him to do, so he could either go home or find something else to occupy his time.

Normally he would sigh in dejection and head off, usually in the company of one of the Haradas or Takeshi—though lately, he had been hearing less and less from a certain long-haired twin. He was grateful, though, because the less he was with her, the less likely he would be to transform into a certain phantom thief.

Thankfully, though, today was not one of those days he had to head home right away, and he knew exactly where he wanted to go.

 _"Tell me again,"_  a voice inside his head interrupted the silence,  _"why you’re doing this?"_

"You don’t know how to make friends very well, do you, Dark."

Dark grumbled in offense, but didn’t say anything else.

So Daisuke continued down the hallway, trailing his fingertips over the smooth walls and textured nameplates, his nose twitching lightly. The strong and slightly stagnant scent of paints reached his nose, and the closer he got to his destination, the more powerful the smell got.

He stopped next to the door from which the scents drifted, feeling the nameplate next to it. “ART ROOM”.

With a little smile, he felt for the doorknob—it was unlocked already, so he pushed it open.

It was quiet inside, serene and relaxed, though Daisuke could hear some slight shuffling from the people still occupying the room. He could feel eyes on him as they looked over at him in confusion, likely wondering why the blind kid was at the art club.

Even the person he had come to visit.

"Niwa?"

Daisuke’s smile bloomed brilliantly, and he stepped further into the room. “Hiwatari-kun! I thought I might find you here. I hope I’m not disturbing?” He carefully slid his walking stick forward, making sure he wouldn’t accidentally bump into anyone or anything as he made his way over to his new friend.

Satoshi shook his head, then remembered Daisuke couldn’t see him. “No—not at all.” He said quietly, sounding puzzled. “Did you need something…?”

"Well, we didn’t get to talk much since that time, and you don’t talk much in class, so I thought I could see what you were up to here." Daisuke answered simply, "You mentioned you had art club, so I was curious. I’ve never been to it before."

Someone nearby scoffed. “Obviously.”

The red-haired boy’s smile dropped ever so slightly, and Satoshi frowned. He touched Daisuke’s arm gently, whispering, “Let’s talk over here.”

Daisuke nodded, following without another word. Satoshi led the redhead over to the corner where he usually worked, pulling up an extra stool, which Daisuke instinctively sat down on.

Before Satoshi could speak again, Daisuke beat him to it. “So, you’re an artist? Do you paint? I smell paint.”

Satoshi blinked, answering both questions in one go. “Somewhat.” His tone was bitter, and had Daisuke been able to see, he would have caught the glance Satoshi threw toward the blank canvas at his work station. “It’s… a family tradition to know how to, but…”

"Huh. I’ve heard of families forcing their kids to become doctors or something, but never families who do that for art." Daisuke’s white eyes were wide.

"It’s not that big of a deal. I do it in my free time, so it’s… alright." Satoshi looked away from the other boy’s blank gaze.

 _"What with the job as a police commander, I can imagine he doesn’t have much time to paint."_  Dark commented, but Daisuke had learned to ignore him by now. _"Seriously, why make friends with him, of all people? He’s out to arrest us!"_

 _He’s not a bad person, Dark._  Daisuke shook his head, sighing. Satoshi gave him a strange look, one eyebrow quirked.

Daisuke realized he must have looked silly, though, so he quickly said, “I’ve never been able to do anything like art—I mean, I can’t even hold a pencil, much less a paint brush. I never learned how.” He shrugged, “I guess I’m a little envious you can do something like art—it must be beautiful.”

Satoshi stared at him. He had studied Daisuke for a long time before they first spoke, and he knew these things about the Niwa boy—things like how he couldn’t write—yet it still surprised him to hear it from Daisuke’s own mouth. Besides…

"It’s nothing you should feel envious about. It’s not everything you make it out to be."

Daisuke’s eyebrows raised. “Maybe,” he replied, “or maybe you’re taking it for granted.”

Satoshi frowned. He remained quiet, but inside, his mind was ready to burst.

_I know what it is… how to do it, every detail and technique, every painstaking process of creation. I know what happens when an artist paints, and their creations come to life… I know that feeling I get when I finally finish a work and step back to look at it. I know that feeling all too well. So believe me when I say it’s not all it’s cracked up to be._

"…You don’t like doing it much, do you." Daisuke tilted his head quizzically.

The blue-haired boy flinched, and looked away again. “…I love painting. Or, I  _loved_ it. But lately… I can’t do it without feeling horrible. So believe me—I’m not taking it for granted.” He bit his tongue, trying to keep his inner storm from coming out, “Art is a process that takes everything you’ve got, and it takes everything away. It’s really not as great as you seem to think.”

"What color is your canvas?"

Satoshi looked up in confusion, his glasses sliding off his nose a little. “What?”

"Tell me what color it is. I can’t exactly see." Daisuke gave an encouraging grin, though his eyes shone with a melancholy determination.

"…White." Satoshi said quietly, staring at the redhead pensively. "But… you don’t know what color that is, do you?"

Daisuke’s smile grew—as did the sadness in his eyes. “No, I don’t. But try to describe it to me anyway.”

Satoshi was quiet, glancing at the blank canvas in contemplation. “It’s… the color of that feeling you get when you’ve kept your eyes open too long without blinking.” He decided, recalling the long nights and early mornings in his recent past that felt exactly like that—like whiteness. “It’s the color of the sound you hear when it’s… quiet, but not peaceful. It’s the color of… snowflakes on your skin.”

"The color of snow?" Daisuke tilted his head, "I’ve always heard they were described as white… but is that feeling that comes with it really the same?"

"I’d think so." Satoshi said softly, finally picking up his paintbrush and beginning to fill the canvas, struck by inspiration from his conversation with Daisuke. He paused when he finished his stroke. "Perhaps you were right, Niwa. I  _was_  taking things for granted.”

Daisuke grinned brightly. “Sometimes you’ve got to think in terms of the absolute basics to really appreciate your skill, hm?”

Satoshi gasped quietly, looking over at his—dare he say it—friend. Daisuke blinked at the sound, tilting his head in confusion. “Is something wrong?”

Satoshi was silent for a few moments longer, before he carefully picked his words. “…Did you come up with that yourself?”

"Huh?" The redhead started, "Yeah. I mean… why wouldn’t I have?"

 _Because Dark said something just like it, last night._  Satoshi frowned. He recalled hearing Dark talking to himself, and he had uttered those words… but he wondered who had actually said it—was it really Dark? Or was it…

"Niwa," Satoshi paused, then shook his head, "never mind. You are correct—I had never really appreciated color as I should have. Thank you for reminding me."

Daisuke’s face lit up happily. “I’m glad,” he gave a toothy grin, “So, what color are you using now? I heard you use something—was it a paintbrush?”

Satoshi allowed himself a small smile too, getting back to his work. “Yes, it was a paintbrush. I’m using blue.”

"Blue?" Daisuke waited expectantly, looking excited. He had never actually had someone describe color to him the way Satoshi had—most people didn’t acknowledge that the blind redhead didn’t know color the way others did. Satoshi had seemed almost keenly aware of this.

"The color of… sadness, and calm." Satoshi said after a moment, "It’s the feeling of fresh bruises sometimes… and other times, it’s the morning air, right before the dawn." He made a few more strokes on the canvas, whispering softly, "It’s the color of the snow’s purest shadows."

"Shadows?"

Satoshi blinked, glancing at the redhead out of the corner of his eye. He took a moment to figure out a way to explain it. “The coolness on your back when you’re facing the sun. The snow has that too.”

"Oh." Daisuke breathed in awe. "Someone… someone once told me the shadows were darkness." He said quietly, "I know what darkness is. I thought shadows were the same… I didn’t know they could have color."

Satoshi pursed his lips. “Shadows don’t technically exist—they’re the absence of color, of light… but only in a theoretical sense. In this world… everything has color. Even in the blackest nights, there are the smallest bits of color.”

Daisuke smiled, and it took Satoshi a moment to realize how peculiar his smile was.

"What? What’s with that look?"

"You sounded really nice just now." Daisuke said cheerfully, "You’re usually so emotionless, it’s good to hear your voice when you’re doing something you like. I wonder what your face looked like, just now."

Satoshi stared at him, blank-faced, unsure how to respond.

"Hey… if you don’t mind…" Daisuke laid his walking stick across his lap, freeing both hands. He brought them up, holding them toward Satoshi like he was presenting him something, "I want to… I mean, can I see?"

 _See?_  Satoshi’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion, glancing at the redhead’s loosely open hands. Unsure what was going on, he managed out a weak, “Sure.”

Daisuke brought his hands closer to Satoshi’s face, leaning forward a bit. Satoshi hadn’t realized he turned in his stool to face the boy more easily, and watched in fascination as Daisuke’s fingers brushed his cheeks. The rest of his hands cupped the sides of his face more confidently as they found their hold, and then they remained still.

"…I didn’t know you wore glasses, Hiwatari-kun."

Satoshi nodded quietly. “Do you want me to take them off?”

"You don’t have to. I’ve actually never had much chance to ‘see’ the face of someone with glasses! At least I won’t accidentally poke your eye like this." The redhead chuckled mirthfully. He moved his fingers, tickling Satoshi’s ears and brushing aside the tips of his hair from his eyes. Careful thumbs traced the bridge of his nose and brushed over his lips.

Daisuke’s hands were warm. Satoshi stared in slight bewilderment as the boy seemed to memorize the shape of his face—every contour, texture, and flaw.

"Your skin… it’s cold." Daisuke said quietly, his fingers stopping at Satoshi’s lips—he didn’t dare open his mouth to speak. "It’s… white."

Blue eyes widened, staring into colorless voids.

And he allowed a small smile ghost over his lips—just to let Daisuke feel. “Yes… I suppose that would be what white feels like.”

"That’s… weird. Even though I just learned it today… I didn’t think I’d feel it so soon." Daisuke’s features softened, and he removed his hands at last, folding them in his lap. "No wonder you could describe it so well."

"Perhaps." Satoshi turned back to his canvas, no longer blank, but streaked with color.

They sat in silence for a while, and Satoshi wondered if Daisuke was getting bored, just listening to the paintbrushes move around him. When the bespectacled teenager looked over again, he saw Daisuke’s focusing intensely, as if trying to hear the colors flowing onto the canvases.

His fascination with color was indeed an odd one… but Satoshi, for some unfathomable reason, felt that it was  _right_. As if, in another lifetime, he should have been a artist too.

This realization in mind, he turned back to his new friend. He stared hard, his eyebrows furrowed and his eyes wide.

With that thought, it had dawned on him  _why_  it felt right: there was a look in those sightless eyes that Satoshi knew all too well. It reflected passion… the strong urge to  _create_.

Daisuke didn’t seem to have noticed Satoshi’s gaze on him, and the blue-haired boy allowed himself another smile—still small, but bigger than before.

"Niwa," he caught the redhead’s attention, and his head snapped forward at the sudden address.

"What is it?" Daisuke asked, curious.

"Seeing as this is art club…" The blue-haired boy paused, carefully watching Daisuke’s expression for his reaction, "Have you ever made a sculpture?"

"Huh…? No." Daisuke tilted his head, and Satoshi’s smile grew ever so slightly. He was sure it leaked into his voice, and that Daisuke could hear it even if he couldn’t see.

"Do you want to try?"


End file.
